


Pencil

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas learns more filthy pedestrian habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pencil

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this on my phone at a mall, so heads up, it’s pretty bleargh.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Meludir is small for an elf of the guard, his strength closer to that of Men than his Elven brethren, and for that, Legolas helps him carry back the newest barrels brought from the bargemen. It’s hardly his or the patrol’s job to ferry such things, but Legolas prefers to keep an eye on the stores of wine his father will inevitably devour. It doesn’t hurt that Meludir beams across their shared burden, as though receiving aid from his prince is an even headier treat than the wine in his hands.

It’s unusual for Legolas’ father to stray so low into the dungeons, but as Legolas backs his way through the opened door, he recognizes his father’s gate. Galion, the usual occupant, is growing old, and his footfalls are no longer as light as Thranduil’s remain.

Meludir’s blush also gives him away; many of this realm admire Thranduil like some sort of Vala, but many more admire him in a far lewder way. Meludir averts his pretty eyes, leaving Legolas, walking backwards through the cellar, to be their primary guide. He doesn’t bother to look around and only hopes that he can shoo his young, still innocent companion away before his father breaks open the casket.

He’s stopped with a surprisingly firm, “Legolas.” He expected some disappointment if caught aiding the common guard, but not outright scolding in front of another. He halts immediately, barely a few steps into the cellar. Meludir stops instantly and continues to eye the floor, cheeks redder than Tauriel’s hair.

Before Legolas can turn to look and ask what he’s done this time, he feels his father’s long fingers tuck behind his ear. Legolas holds in a breath as Thranduil strokes back along his scalp, to where his white-golden locks are held up in a messy, though practical, bun.

Thranduil asks, cold as ice, “My leaf, why is there a stick in your hair?”

“To hold it in place, Ada,” he answers, trying to sound casual and sweet.

There’s a slight pause, and then Thranduil wryly drawls, “You have tied your hair not with a ribbon... but a stick.”

“There are no ribbons in the woods, Ada.”

“Nor would I expect you to use a found one, discarded and dirty, if there were.”

The stick’s been discarded only by a tree and is, of course, quite clean; he went through many before choosing the one that currently sticks straight up from his head, not all that unlike a single strand of his father’s crown. But he knows there’s no use saying any of that. So Legolas remains quiet while Thranduil paces slowly around him, eyeing the haphazard updo from different angles.

Finally, Thranduil asks, “Who taught you this?”

Legolas thinks to lie. But there are no other elves who deserve Thranduil’s wrath, so he admits, “Tauriel. It was hot on the hunt, and I witnessed her using only her surroundings to secure her hair. I asked how it was done, so she showed me.”

Voice hard as stone, Thranduil asks, “And how is it done?”

“The hair is gathered, a stick is thrust vertically down its middle, and the hair is rotated once around the stick.” Before he can stop himself, he’s added, “Meludir wraps it twice.” Meludir’s face turns pure scarlet; as excited as he once looked for Legolas’ company, now he looks as though he would like to sink through the floor. Legolas hurriedly continues, “Then the stick is flipped vertically and thrust down through the hair again, securing it in place.”

Finished, Legolas chances a look at Thranduil’s face. He doesn’t look amused. Legolas can see that once again Tauriel has fallen in his father’s eyes.

After an uncomfortable moment during which the wine barrel seems to grow increasingly heavy in Legolas’ hands, Thranduil announces, “I will have a rod of silver devised for you.”

Legolas says, “Thank you, Ada,” and doesn’t mention that a ribbon would be easier to bring; the stick is specifically for lack of foresight.

With a brisk nod, Thranduil walks past them. He leaves the cellar with, for once, no wine in hand. In his absence, Meludir releases a shaken sigh.

Then he looks up at Legolas and mumbles, “I think your hair looks lovely, my lord.”

Legolas mutters a disgruntled, “Thank you,” and continues to guide the barrel in.


End file.
